TALBOYS.
It came at once from all points of the compass—and they all met—all the storms—every mother's son of them—at a central point—where I happened to be. Of course, no house. Look for a house on an emergency, and if once in a million times you see one—the door is locked, and the people gone to Australia.
NORTH.
I insist on you putting on dry clothes. Don't try my temper.
TALBOYS.
By-and-by I began to have my suspicions that I had been distracted from the road—and was in the Channel of the Airey. But on looking down I saw the Airey in his own channel—almost as drumly as the mire-burn—vulgarly called road—I was plashing up. Altogether the scene was most animating—and in a moment of intense exhilaration—not to weather-fend, but in defiance—I unfurled my Umbrella.
NORTH.
What, a Plover with a Parapluie?
TALBOYS.
I use it, sir, but as a Parasol. Never but on this one occasion had it affronted rain.